


Craving

by Ephemera_pop (Alex_Draven)



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-19
Updated: 2005-02-19
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Draven/pseuds/Ephemera_pop
Summary: Written for the "A Picture is Worth 1000 Words" challenge, and my first pop-slash story. The picture was of three old-fashioned glass Coke bottles, beaded with condensation.





	

Even the quietest corner of the huge area that was fenced off as 'back stage' was loud. Not loud the way it had been from on stage, with the monitors pushing the guy's voices back to him, surfing on top of the audience's volume, but a constant background presence. Crowds of chattering, screaming, squealing teens, and the twenty different tunes from the rides and the back-blown music from the stage, all distorted by the stages and tents and port-o-cabins and trucks, so he couldn't make out much more than the beat, the bass, and the fact it was still pretty loud.  
.  
Plus it was hot. He was hot. And sticky, and tired and his head was starting to throb. The festival's 'backstage' area was a heat trap, with all the white tents and generator engines and no fans or anything to get a breeze going. He was darkly certain that when they finally got to leave they'd find that the van had been parked in direct sunshine for the past fourteen hours and that the hotel wouldn’t have air-conditioning.

He wanted a coke. A huge coke, half full of floating ice, with condensation beading on the sides. But failing that just *a* coke. Even though it would be one of those dinky little bottles, with no ice, and taste slightly different – meaning wrong – the idea still taunted him and no amount of slightly warm bottled water was making it better. Not to mention the rest of the guys had wandered off somewhere and left him to slow-cook on his own.

He was all too well aware that it was petty, but he could live with that. He wasn't going to whine like one of the babies, but apparently he could sulk. It just wasn't fair. They all had so many restrictions hanging over them, but the prohibition on soda established by the orthodontist and enforced, ever so slightly smugly, by Lou was the one that was making him crazy right now.

*****

 

Justin had been following JC around for what was starting to feel like half of forever, fine combing through the semi-organised chaos of back stage, and he really wanted to say something about being right. Somehow, though, the sight of Chris slumped down against a heap of flight cases, stripped down to a wifebeater, with his hands knotted in his braids distracted him. The wink JC flashed him while mouthing 'shh' completely drove the idea of pathetically melted ice-cream out of his mind.

The steady bass of the stage must have hidden their footsteps, because Chris jumped when Justin tossed one of the paper packages he was holding into Chris' lap. JC collapsed bonelessly next to Chris, bottles jangling in one hand, and Chris kept looking up at Justin like one or both of them had beamed in from Mars.

"We got you those spiced almond things." Justin explained. JC offered a bottle wordlessly. "And a coke" Justin continued.

Chris stopped staring at Justin and stared at the bottle JC was dangling in front of him instead.

"It's roasting today, man, just – drink the coke and thank the nice man and we won’t tell on you."

He was standing close enough to nudge Chris's shoulder with one knee. Chris flicked a quick look up at Justin, before taking the bottle, and JC's hand, and lifting the hand, rather than the bottle, to his mouth. Damn, but they were fine together, eyes locked, all hungry, and JC's finger slick where Chris's mouth was moving on it.

*****

There was hot, like summer sun and engines and sweat prickling where skin touched skin, and then there was hot like Chris' mouth. Sucking and pressing with his tongue and fingertips just tickling right on the soft point of his wrist, and Chris's eyes dark and intent and challenge and promises. Hot like you can't breath and you can't look away and when you can there's indecent blue eyes watching you just as hard. Hot like you're going to die from it and somehow this is your life, this and making music, and you could just about laugh out loud for joy, if you'd had any breath left in you at all.

"Thank you." Chris's voice gives away nothing, but his expression, his fingers, the way your blood is fizzing – that gives away everything.

Justin is kneeling behind Chris now, and he looks up from mouthing at Chris's neck to wink and say "You're welcome." and you think about not adding, "Have a nice day." but say it anyway.

Chris pokes his tongue out at you and Justin reaches round to thwap you over the back of the head, except his hand stays there, resting right where the muscles are a little tense. Someday, way too soon, you and Chris are going to have to have a conversation about how long you're going to make Justin wait before he gets to share more than playing and watching, because right now you really want to do more than that.

You blink hard against the images that idea conjures, and when you open your eyes again, Chris has his head tilted back so that he and Justin can kiss. Slow and gentle compared to what his tongue was promising seconds ago, but it still makes you shiver, especially when Chris's hand tightens and nudges the back of yours over his hard on. You fumble putting the bottles down, and spill a little before they're wedged against the corner of a case and you've finally got enough hands free to pull yourself closer to both of them. You might be 'the spacey creative one' but you can spot an invitation when it's handed to you like that. Justin's hand somehow manages to stay with you as you wriggle lower, mouthing and nuzzling and inhaling sweat and sex. Your own hands are busy clearing your way, whilst Chris is stretched up, arching backwards to twist fingers in Justin's curls. To remind him that he belongs here now.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "A Picture is Worth 1000 Words" challenge, and my first pop-slash story. The picture was of three old-fashioned glass Coke bottles, beaded with condensation.


End file.
